


i don't have a choice, but i still choose you

by bird_on_a_wire



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV), The Warrior Chronicles | The Saxon Stories - Bernard Cornwell
Genre: Also explosive?, Canon Compliant, Enemies as Lovers?, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Longing, Season/Series 03, Season/Series 04, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:22:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25038427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bird_on_a_wire/pseuds/bird_on_a_wire
Summary: "Uhtred, I came here to rest, to hunt, find a woman, maybe. I did not come here to talk of war against Alfred."Finan finds the woman he was looking for at Dunholm, but this dark haired shield-maiden is not at all what he was expecting.
Relationships: Finan (The Last Kingdom)/Original Character(s)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 76





	1. Dunholm

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by an imagine prompt from the TLKFanficFest about Finan/Reader, with the reader being a Dane. And some how it morphed into this wild ride. 
> 
> Thank you to my lovelies, all of you, for encouraging me, reading early messy versions and loving Maeve as much as I do.

Dunholm is a flurry of activity in the days after the arrival of Ragnar's brother Uhtred, the one they call the Dane-Slayer, and the group of men who follow him. Maeve had not been in England then, but as they watch them ride into Dunhold, the other Shield-maidens tell her they are a fierce mix of warriors - both Dane and Saxon. She hears whispers that Uhtred has been cursed by a seer, a small slip of a thing with a wild look in her eye like she could murder a man with her bare hands. His men will about the courtyard, keeping mostly to themselves. 

"I hear you are travelling with a seer," Maeve says to the one called Sihtric, a day later when there has still been no sign of Uhtred. Sihtric sits at a table with a few of Uhtred's men. 

"She has cursed our Lord," the young one says, touching the cross hanging around his neck. 

Sihtric nods with the man's assessment and motions for Maeve and the other shield-maidens to sit. Maeve hesitates because she's still unsure that they can trust this lot to not stab them in the back. She is a Dane. They are the Dane-Slayer's men. It's not hard to be wary. But Sihtric raises his eyebrows at her, and she sighs, rolling her eyes as she motions for Cella and Gaila to sit with her.

"What's your name?" She asks the young one as he pours her some ale from the pitcher. He can't have been a man very long, for no hair grows on his face, and his hair is cut like that of a Christian priest.

He looks startled at her question and stumbles over his words before he answers. "Os...Osferth."

"Definitely a Saxon," Maeve says to Cella, and they both laugh as Osferth's face blushes, looking down into his cup of ale. "Also, a virgin." This makes everyone at the table laugh, even Osferth. And Sihtric claps him on the back, ruffling his hair. After, the tension around the table seems to dissipate, and Maeve takes her hand off the dagger in her belt, allowing herself to enjoy the cup of ale. 

Gaila offers to help Osferth out with one of his two problems, and that sets the table off again, ale sloshing around as more cups are filled. 

"Baby Monk, are ya finally going to become a man?" A deep voice asks behind Maeve, and she turns quickly to see the tall, dark-haired man, Finan, Uhtred's second-in-command. 

Finan smacks Osferth's shoulder when he walks over to the table, pushing him down the bench and sits right in front of Maeve. "Yer one of Brida's?" He asks, holding his cup to the jug of ale Sihtric is pouring from. 

"Yes," Maeve says, taking a sip of her cup. "We are shield-maidens. We fight for her. We kill for her."

"Sounds like we have somethin' in common," Finan says. His eyelashes are thick, and his eyes hooded from a bit too much ale. He has a pretty mouth though, full and pink, too bad he's the Dane-slayer's man or maybe Maeve would bring him to her bed. She still might if she's honest with herself. 

"Are you a woman as well?" Maeve asks, teasingly. "Are you Uhtred Ragnarson's shield-maiden?" 

Finan looks amused by this but says nothing, only keeps drinking his ale. "No shield," he says with a shrug of his shoulders. "Only weapons."

Maeve snorts, she is so sick of Saxons. "You Saxons are all alike, thinking your badly sharpened sticks are actual tools of battle." She knows she's taunting him slightly, but he doesn't seem to mind verbally sparring with her. In fact, one could almost say he likes it. Maeve is surprised by this, but she finds she enjoys it, having him watch her. His interest in her piques her own. 

"Only steel for me." He fills his cup with ale again and drinks it down on one fell swoop. 

"Let's see them then?" Maeve says, staring straight at him. There's meaning in her statement, an innuendo building between the two of them as he looks back at her just as intensely. 

He shifts on the bench as if he has to adjust himself, and Maeve bites her lip to keep from smiling. "Which one?" 

"The one you'd like to stick inside a Dane." There is a stillness at the table for a moment, and then Finan laughs, loud with abandon. The rest of the table joins, and Maeve feels a small swell of pride. That's one point to her. 

Later, after Gaila and Cella have wandered away with the Baby Monk in tow, and Sihtric is passed out drunk at the end of the table, only Maeve and Finan are left alone. 

"Yer feisty kitten," he says, but there's a tone of commendation in his voice. 

Maeve smiles. "I'm not like your Saxon women if that's what you mean. Who think humping is the work of their devil and to enjoy it goes against their Christian God." 

"I don't have any Saxon women," he says, holding out the pitcher of ale. Maeve shakes her head. She's had enough for the night, she wants to remember this night. Because despite her earlier misgivings, she wants this man in her bed, beneath her. She stands and walks around the table, taking the pitcher out of his hand and dumping it on the ground. She needs him not too into his cups tonight. He frowns at her and the ale on the ground, staring at her for a moment. 

Maeve runs her thumb over his mouth, taking his chin in her hand. "If you have nowhere to sleep tonight, Irishman. You should follow me." She drops his jaw from her hand and begins to walk away. She doesn't look back, but she hears him mutter something to Sihtric, and his footsteps follow her across the yard and toward the keep where she's been given a room. 

"You should know, Irishman, if I am not satisfied, it is my right to kill you." They're alone now, in a hallway of the keep, and Maeve looks over her shoulder at him. He seems amused by this threat, rubbing a hand over his beard to cover his smile. 

"Never had any complaints yet, lass," he says, following Maeve into her room and shutting the door behind him. 

"I am not your lass," Maeve says, already beginning to undo the laces of her leather tunic. "You are desperate for a hump, and I have always wanted to ride an Irish cock. It is that simple." He cannot find an argument against her, and he shrugs, stripping out of his clothes as she does the same. 

Maeve pushes him onto his back on the furs, and he goes obligingly, letting her climb astride his thighs. His cock is already full and hard, resting against the equally hard plane of his stomach and chest. He is a well-built man, sinew, and muscle rippling beneath tanned skin. His hand, calloused from years of swordplay and riding, touches Maeve's thigh, runs along up along her skin to anchor at her hip, his thumb rubbing maddening little circles over the sensitive skin stretched above her hip bone. The other hand reaches for one of her tits with a squeeze. He groans softly at the feel of her in his hand. Maeve wonders how long it has been since he touched a woman. 

"Do I feel different than your Saxon women?" Maeve teases as her hand wraps around his cock, stroking him from root to tip and back again. 

"I don't remember," he grunts, his voice hoarse when she runs her thumb over the head of his cock, sliding over the wetness that has already begun to leak. He pinches the end of her tit between his fingers, and the shock of it shoots right to her cunt. In return, Maeve squeezes his cock tighter in her hand, and he growls in approval. 

With him still in her hand, Maeve shifts up on her knees to take him inside, slowly sinking her cunt over his cock. She presses a hand to his chest, pausing herself as she gets used to the size of him, the delicious burn of his length and width as he fills her. Once fully seated on him, his cock buried deep in her cunt, she begins to move her hips, small dips at first, Maeve's still pleasantly surprised at how good it feels to have him moving inside her, no matter how small the movement. There are not so many Danes this patient for her.

"Christ almighty," he swears, as she begins to move faster above him. His hands hold onto Maeve's hips, and rhythm between the two of them begins to build. He is not the only one to lose his resolve as Maeve too finds herself breathless in their coupling. She knows now his bravado of no complaints was not unwarranted. 

He reaches a hand up to twist into her dark hair, to hold her tight to him while he thrusts up into her, harder and more demanding than Maeve had expected. His other hand drops between the two of them, and he barely touches the tight bundle of nerves before Maeve is moaning loudly, her release coming hot and furious, taking her by complete and utter surprise. 

Suddenly Maeve feels herself spin, flat on her back now, and her cunt aches at the sudden emptiness of him leaving her body has caused. With the furs beneath her, Finan lifts her arms above her head, trapping her there, one hand holding her wrists. He laughs at Maeve's bewildered look and presses his mouth to hers in a demanding kiss. It is not the kiss of a man who does not know what he is doing, nor is he in a rush to do it. He nips at her bottom lip with his teeth, only to soothe it with another kiss, his tongue licking into her mouth to tease her own tongue out to play. 

Maeve can still feel him hard against her stomach, and she tilts her hips up, trying to take him in again, but he shakes his head. "Not yet, my fierce wee faerie." He kisses his way along her jaw to her neck, nipping again, his teeth sending shockwaves of pleasure. "As ye can imagine, it's been some time since I've had a woman in my bed." He bites playfully at the swell of her tits, the delicious teasing burn from his beard teases across her belly and down until he's got her spread wide, kissing the insides of her thighs. "I intend to have my fill. Does that suit ye?" 

Maeve finds herself nodding eagerly, fingers already curling into the furs, and her back arches sharply when Finan finally gets his mouth on her. He is not the first man to try such a thing, but oh, how he is the most thorough. It takes him barely any time at all to bring her to that crest again, continuing to lick and kiss at her cunt until she is begging him to stop, laughing as she pushes his face away, and he reluctantly obeys. 

With her chest heaving, trying to catch her breath, Maeve pulls Finan toward her. He presses a kiss to her mouth that is soft and chaste, but Maeve is as desperate for him now. Her tongue invades his mouth, seeking the sweet, heady taste of her on her lips. 

"Are ye good?" Finan asks. He moves over her, Maeve's legs slipping around his waist, his cock rubbing against her cunt, still impossibly slick.

Maeve nods, her hands reaching up to stroke his face and chest, her teeth nipping at his ear. "I want this...I want you." She whispers, rocking her hips to slide her cunt along the length of him.

Finan groans, one hand tight on her thigh, the other holding himself up above her. "Where, lass?" He growls, pressing against her. "Where do you want me?"

"Right there, gods Finan, right there." She arches herself up against him.

He draws back, almost all the way out, only to push back into her with one deep thrust, and his groan says all she needs to know. "Look at me," Finan says. His hand on the side of her face, the tips of his fingers in her hairline. "So beautiful," he breathes, pressing his mouth down against her, and she feels him swell even harder inside of her.

He sucks and licks at Maeve's neck and collarbone, leaving dark marks on her skin. Marks that will say to everyone what they both know they cannot admit, nor say aloud. That he belongs to her now, that she belongs to him. He groans, pressing Maeve down into the furs with his hips, alternating between deep and shallow thrusts until he pulls back, pulling out of her to spill, hot and wet, on her belly.

With a jagged breath, he collapses next to her. Maeve turns her head to look at him, this fierce Irish warrior with dark eyes that reveal both too little and too much as they find hers. Maeve finds herself wanting to know more about him, wanting to hear every story of every scar on his body and to have him listen as she tells him the stories of her own scars. 

He takes her hand, holding it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of it. "I reckon if ye still want to kill me," Finan jests, referring back to her earlier threat, "I'd probably enjoy that too." 

Maeve laughs and turns on her side, resting her head on Finan's shoulder. "I think maybe I will keep you around. For now." 

Finan hums in agreement, but his eyes are closed, and Maeve takes the opportunity to closely examine him. She runs a fingertip over the scar on his forehead, down the bridge of his nose and over those full lips. Lips she's had the pleasure of experiencing, kissing. 

They sleep for a few hours, but Maeve wakes in that early blue-black light, the kind where you need to blink several times to see anything in front of you, to the feel of Finan's mouth ghosting across her shoulders, his fingers trailing down the ridge of her back, his hand palming her bottom and giving an appreciative squeeze. When they hump that time, Finan fits himself behind her, and they move together slowly as if they have an endless amount of hours in the night. And Maeve falls back asleep with Finan wrapped around her, his breath warm on the back of her neck.

In the morning, he's gone when Maeve wakes. She gets dressed quickly, braiding her hair into a simple style as she leaves her quarters and heads to the courtyard. She grabs an apple from a basket, rubbing it clean on her tunic when she spots Finan and Osferth sharpening their swords. 

"So, Baby Monk, did my women make you a man last night?" Maeve calls from across the courtyard, and both of them look up at her. Osferth looks terrified, which makes Maeve laugh, but it's Finan's expression that unnerves Maeve. A look that tells her what she already feels as well, that last night will not be enough. 

"I believe that a man should keep those things to himself," Osferth says, but he's smiling, and Maeve pats him on the cheek. She's becoming fond of this one, despite how painfully Saxon he is. 

Maeve walks by Finan, her hip bumping his shoulder slightly before she sits down across from him. "Sleep well?"

He shrugs, continuing to run the stone down the edge of his blade. "Alright, kept being woken by a faerie buzzin' in my ear." He winks at her, as Osferth starts debating the merits of faeries actually existing. "Oh, they exist, Baby Monk. They are wild 'lil things, never know what they'll do next. Gotta be on yer guard." Finan hasn't stopped looking at her during his explanation, and Maeve leans her face on her hand, laughing into her knuckles. 

"They sound terrifying," Osferth mutters, shaking his head as he wanders off. 

"I thought maybe I wore you out last night." Maeve says, more plainly now that Osferth has walked away. "Are you an early riser?" 

Finan shrugs. "Had to piss. Figured I might as well get up." 

Maeve can tell it's a lie but she doesn't press him. There's no loyalty or fidelity between them, and neither of them expect it. She finishes her apple and chucks the core under the table. "I need to find Brida. Find me later," she says. She gets up from the table and bends close to his ear. "I'll show you where the best bathing spot is." She walks away before he can respond, and she heads into the hall to find Brida. 

Brida is talking to Uhtred when Maeve arrives but she waits until the Dane-slayer is gone and joins Brida where she sits. 

"You have a history with him?" Maeve asks. She knows they grew up together with Ragnar, but there's a frisson of something between them. Not something to explore, nor with a future, but rather something to be mourned. 

"Did you hump the Irishman?" Brida's question is direct, and she looks at Maeve expectantly. Maeve knows she hadn't been exactly secretive about her and Finan going off the night before, but it had been late, and she hadn't thought too many people were awake, or sober enough, to notice. 

"Why?" 

Brida laughs, "That's a yes." Maeve shrugs, smiling at Brida. 

"What can I say? He has a big cock."

"I want you to use him, get information about Uhtred. He's Uhtred second-in-command." 

Maeve feels an unexpected wave of nausea roll in her gut. The task does not sit well with her and she sighs, she needs to be careful about how she answers as Brida looks at her expectantly. "We do not talk much," Maeve says, raising her eyebrows to insinuate the rest. "His mouth was mostly busy." 

They burst out laughing and Maeve thanks the gods that the situation has been diffused for the moment. 

"You know not to let him finish inside you?" Brida says seriously. "You don't need a pup in your belly when we fight the Saxons." 

"Is that what we're doing?" Maeve asks, ignoring Brida's question. "Going to war?" 

Brida shrugs. "Eventually. Why else are we here?" 

Brida's question tugs at Maeve for most of the day. She is loyal, there is no question when the time comes she will fight. She will follow Brida to Mercia, to Wessex, that is her duty as a shield-maiden. It is her duty to her people. But she cannot deny the effect Uhtred's men have had on her in the last day. It is the effect that Uhtred's Irish warrior has had on her that irks Maeve most of all. 

She's still thinking about it when she's bathing the River Wear later that evening in preparation for the evening's festivities. 

"How the hell are ye standing in that water?" A voice asks her and she turns around with a smile. Finan is standing at the edge of the river, leaning against a tree. "Yer gonna freeze off those marvellous tits." 

Maeve shakes her head, slowly wading out of the water toward him. Finan grabs the blanket she left on the shore and holds it open for her when she climbs out and stands in front of him. He wraps it around her, holding it closed in front of her. "How did you find me?"

"Cella. She said ye usually come up here. I didna think ye'd be naked. That's a pleasant surprise." Finan leans forward, the tip of his nose nuzzling against hers. His breath is warm on her face. "I have been thinking all bloody day of kissin' ya." 

Maeve tilts her face up to him, one of his hands is still holding the blanket closed tight between them, but the other cups the back of her head, cradling her in his large, strong hand. "That must have been painful."

Finan groans, "Ye have no idea." He pulls on the blanket, her body now flush against him and she can feel him, half-hard through the wool. 

"You should probably kiss me now. Put yourself out of your misery." 

His hand pulls her head up to him, his mouth fitting against hers. He tastes like ale and apples and Maeve realizes she's begun to associate both with him. She opens her mouth, taking control of their kiss and sliding her tongue into his mouth. She feels the vibration of his moan on her lips and kisses him harder, more demanding as if her hunger for him is a thirst to be slaked and he, Finan, is her first drink of cold water after a long voyage. 

"I swear," Finan growls, his hand twisting into her dark hair. "Ye are the faerie Queen. Ye've betwitched me. I came to Dunholm with Uhtred to rest, to hunt, I didn't not expect to find you."

Maeve pulls back from their kiss, their breath swirling in puffs of soft grey air around them. "And what am I?" 

"Bloody perfect." He says before taking her mouth again. Reluctantly, he watches her dress, and Maeve finds she does not mind his watching. He is not like other men she has known, who watch her for what she may do for them, what they may get because of her. Finan watches her because he simply cannot seem to look away. He tried at first but then his eyes would drift up from rocky shore and soon he stopped trying to hide his gaze. 

"I am not perfect," she says, as they walk slowly back to the keep. "No one is perfect. Not even the gods."

Finan laughs, "I know a few Christians who might beg to differ with ye." 

"Did you know I am only half Dane?" 

"I figured maybe, on account of yer name." 

Maeve nods. "My mother was a slave. In Irland." She looks at Finan when she says it but continues. "My father was a Dane. And when I was born my mother begged him to name me Maeve. He did not care because I was not a boy so he let her. She died a year later, in childbirth."

"I'm sorry, Maeve." He touches her hand, just a comforting squeeze as she tells him her story. 

"I didn't know her, I don't remember her, so I don't truly miss her. I miss the idea of her, the idea of a mother who might have loved me." Maeve shrugs. "I was raised by my father's wife. Cnut's mother." 

"Cnut?" Finan looks at her with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. "Cnut?" He asks again. 

Maeve laughs. "Yes, he is my half brother. We look nothing alike. We also think nothing alike." Maeve says with a sigh. "He is impulsive and rash. Like our father. It will be his downfall." 

They are almost at the keep when Maeve stops him. "There is to be a celebration tonight. Ragnar is happy to have his brother home. More drinking. Playing games…" Maeve finds herself unable to stop her hand wandering up Finan's chest, the backs of her fingers stroking his neck, along his beard covered jaw. "There will be more than one woman who will want to lay with you tonight. On nights like this, everyone is in the mood to hump." 

"Is that right?" Finan asks, an amused look on his face. 

"Mmhmm." 

"Then ye'd best make it known that I'm not on offer." 

Maeve smiles and pushes up on her toes to press a soft kiss on Finan's lips. "Oh they know. I just didn't want you to feel left out when no women come near you." 

~

"You do not like the plan to invade Wessex." Maeve runs her fingers through Finan's hair, his head lying against her stomach. "Nor do your friends." If her statement gives Finan pause he does not show it, but turns his head from where he was looking at the ceiling to look at Maeve. 

After allegiances had been sworn, with pacts made to follow Ragnar and defeat King Alfred, Maeve had watched Finan leave the main hall, Osferth and Sihtric close behind. With war imminently on the horizon, the celebration continued with increased vigor. After several rounds of mead, Maeve had wandered off and found Finan. 

"We'll talk later," she heard him say to Sihtric and then he'd kissed her, right there in the courtyard, in front of his fellow men. It was not a gentle kiss, their mouths each demanding that the other yield, their teeth nipping and scraping. 

When they got to her quarters, Finan had wasted no time, taking her right there against the door. There was a franticness to both of them. No finesse, no tenderer touches, only pure white-hot need. 

"I was looking forward to a little bit of peace," Finan says, sighing after a long moment. They'd stripped down after, sprawled out on their backs in Maeve's bed, where they now found themselves. 

He sits up, resting back on one of his hands, his other resting on Maeve's leg. "Sometimes, I feel like I am not destined for peace." He traces his finger along the ink etched along her thigh. "I go where Uhtred goes, and ye'll have noticed he seems to find himself in the middle of things." 

"He is very lucky you are so loyal to him." 

"Tis' not luck, I choose to follow him. We were slaves once, a lifetime ago. Does' na matter why, but we were. We survived for each other. Because of each other." He shifts on the bed and lies back down next to her. "Ragnar found us. But by then…" he pauses and looks at her. 

He kisses her softly, resting his forehead against her temple for a moment before he speaks again. "I am entitled to no one and to nothing. Whoever I was before that ship no longer exists. Fighting alongside Uhtred gives me purpose." 

"If you fought with Ragnar you could have those things again. You could have land, you could have wealth. You take all that is owed to you." 

"D'ya really believe that? Or is that what your brother has been telling ye, so ye believe it." 

Maeve sits up angrily. "I am of my own mind, Finan. I do not follow Cnut blindly, no matter where he leads." 

"Alright, my cranky wee faerie, calm yerself." He reaches for her, and she pulls against him before relenting and allows him to tuck her under his arm. "I'm too bloody exhausted to argue with ye about who is more right. All I know is what I want is a full belly, a cup of good ale, and a soft warm woman to bed." 

"Do you not have all of those things right now?" She asks, looking up at him. 

"Aye, it seems I do." Finan cups her jaw with his hand, leaning over to kiss her cheeks, her lips, his tongue running over her bottom lip, pushing his tongue in against her own as she yields to him. 

Finan rolls her onto her back as he continues to kiss down her throat and across her collarbone. His hands squeeze her tits, pressing his face between them with a groan. His mouth on her tits pulls a moan from her, the hot wet suck of his lips and tongue swirling around one peak and then the next. 

"No more talk of Kings and countries." Finan says, moving back up to capture her mouth as he slides his hand between her thighs, his hand cupping her sex before pushing two fingers inside her. Maeve whines, high in her throat, unable to stay quiet as pleasure floods her, Finan's fingers working in and out of her with slow, languid measures. Maeve's hand grip his arms tightly, her own hand slipping down to take his cock in her hand, stroking him slowly, matching his rhythm. 

"No more waiting," Maeve hisses. "Enough teasing." 

He moves over her, fitting himself inside Maeve with a thrust that makes her gasp. "God are ye warm," Finan groans, lifting her leg over his arm. Maeve is not sure how he could get deeper, yet it feels like not enough and too much and Maeve wonders if she is making a terrible mistake by giving this beautiful, tough warrior parts of herself she knows she should keep hidden. Parts he does not even know he is beginning to own. 

He kisses her gently as they move together. His kiss is too soft for two people who might end up on different sides of the same fight. It promises too much for people who hardly know what the other is made of. And yet Maeve returns them willingly, hungrily. With Finan, she can block out the noise, the distractions, time itself. She can imagine that perhaps, for a moment, they have exactly what they both crave.

In the end, things go as Maeve knew they might. When Uhtred announces that he will be leaving Dunholm for his Saxon princess, Maeve does not wait to hear anything more. She can barely stand to look in Finan's direction as she pushes past him. His hand captures her wrist, holding her there. His eyes are full of regret in a way that tells Maeve this was not a decision Uhtred came to on his own, and the realization hurts worse than if Finan chose to follow Uhtred simply because he was loyal. 

"I cannot do this," she says, pulling her hand out of his grasp. And whether she means listening to Uhtred go back on his word, or spending another night in Finan's arms, Maeve isn't sure, all she knows is the wild beating of her heart will not stop until she is away from him. Away from the silent promises they made to each other when they shouldn't have. 

"And neither can I," he replies. There's a hardness to his eyes Maeve hadn't seen before, or perhaps one she'd chosen to overlook. And though she cannot be sure of the heart and mind of the warrior standing in front of her, she wants to believe what she sees is a mirror of her own steely gaze, a way to protect his heart. She does not stay to find the answer, volunteering to scout that evening, and when she returns to Dunholm the following morning, they are gone.


	2. Saltwic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maeve accompanies Brida to tell Uhtred of Ragnar's murder.

When Brida returns from burying Ragnar, she finds Maeve. There is a haunted look in Brida's eyes now, tiredness that was not there before, but she wears it blatantly. She does not pretend that the loss of Ragnar is something she must endure silently. She is loud and present in her grief. 

"I need to tell Uhtred about Ragnar." They are standing in Maeve's tent in the camp. It does not feel that it has been that long since Maeve watched Finan and Uhtred leave Dunholm, but the days are even shorter now and colder. There is a warmth to Maeve's furs that continues to elude her, and Maeve tries not to put words to the feelings surrounding them. 

She has very purposefully tried to put the idea of Finan out of her mind, has willed herself to forget the sound of her name on his lips when he was almost spent, his fingers digging into her thighs, panting his breath against her neck. She has tried to forget how it felt to be touched by him, the scratch of his calloused fingers on her skin, the hot, warm weight of his palm on her lower back when he pressed into her from behind. 

"Will you kill him?" Maeve asks, packing her bedroll. 

"I don't know. That's why you are coming with me." 

Maeve whips around to look at Brida. "Me? Why?"

Brida stares at her for a moment, as if Maeve would be stupid enough to ask that question. They both know that Maeve's connection to Finan could prove useful to Brida. "Would you rather I ask Cella or Gaila?" Brida snaps. It does not sit well with Maeve to be used as a pawn in Brida's grudge against Uhtred, but she knows what it is to grieve, to have it spin you around, tie your insides into knots. 

Maeve shakes her head. "I'm ready to ride. Whenever you wish to go." 

Brida nods and tells her to meet at the edge of the camp the following morning at first light. Brida leaves her then, muttering something under her breath Maeve cannot hear but does not push her. 

Sleep does not come easy for Maeve, dreams haunt her of the past and the future, and she spends all night tossing and turning, reaching for arms that are always out of reach, wishing for hands that never touch her. When it is just breaking day, she rises and packs the last of her belongings. She does not trust they will be safe in the camp while she is gone. 

"Watch her," Jackdaw says to Maeve, as they ready the horses. "She is halfway to Niflheim herself." He pats Maeve on the shoulder. "Do not let her bring you with her."

Maeve nods, heeding Jackdaw's warning as she mounts her horse, taking the reins of Brida's mount from Jackdaw as she rides to the edge of camp where Brida is waiting for her. 

They do not often speak on their journey South; they ride hard and fast, stopping only when necessary, and even then, Brida's words are short one-word commands or answers. Later, Maeve does not acknowledge with words the tears Brida cries that fall as they sleep, but drags her bed next to Brida, slipping her arm around the other woman to hold her close. She knows what it is like to feel the ache of someone's absence so keenly you can barely breathe.

In Saltwic, she stays at the treeline as Brida approaches. She'd wanted to ride at her side, but Brida told her to wait at the trees. There was a bitterness to her words. 

"This is not a reunion," her voice cutting, words spit through gritted teeth when Maeve protests. Maeve realizes now she is not there to protect Brida from herself, nor is she there to use as leverage. She is there because Brida wishes to teach her a lesson. That there can be only one option when it comes to Saxons - and that is with them firmly on the other side of this fight. 

Though far away, Maeve can see Finan clearly as he rides out next to Uhtred to meet Brida. His hair is longer since his time at Dunholm. Absently, Maeve wonders if he's still using the juniper and rosemary soap she'd had Fyrra make, especially for him. Their last night together, she had snuck it into his pack. Or rather she had bribed Osferth to do it. 

When she sees Brida hold her dagger to Uhtred's throat, her thighs tighten in the saddle, ready to force her horse into a gallop, Brida staggers back and climbs onto her horse. Maeve is still watching Finan and Uhtred standing in the field when Brida comes to where Maeve is still sitting on her horse. 

"Let's make camp," Brida says. "We return to camp at dawn." She says nothing more to Maeve about her conversation with Uhtred. When Maeve looks back across the field, Finan is gone, along with Uhtred and the rest. 

Later once they've set up a camp and made a small fire, Maeve offers to find food. They aren't too far from a stream Maeve saw earlier, and hopefully, they'll eat fish tonight. Maeve is sick of the dried meat and stale bread she's been carrying in her satchel for days. Brida says nothing when Maeve leaves, but she can feel Brida's eyes on her. 

He's waiting for her by the stream. 

"How did you know I would be here?" She asks, standing far enough away from him to mean something but close enough that they can see each other properly now. Maeve refuses to look directly at him. She just can't bring herself to. 

"I didn't. I just guess maybe ye'd need food." He motions to the small sack by his feet. "I brought it from the hall." 

"I don't need your food," Maeve says, already pulling out her twine, fingers nimbly tying it around the hook she carried her satchel. She's still avoiding looking at him. "You should go." 

Finan stands, and for a moment, she wonders if he's actually going to listen to her and go. But he walks closer, tucking his finger under her chin. "Would ya just look at me? Please?" 

She lifts her head as he slips his hand over her jaw, cupping it and pulling her toward him, their eyes locked, his forehead now resting against hers. "I thought I was a fool to come lookin' for ya." Finan says, his thumb continuing to rub her cheek tenderly. 

"We are both fools," Maeve replies, her hand coming up to rest atop of his. "I should not have come here." She pulls his hand away from her face with a jerk and tries to stumble back, but his hand catches her arm, stopping her from running. 

"I know ye blame me, for Uhtred leaving Dunholm." 

"I do blame you! He would have stayed with Ragnar if you were not whispering in his ear, sewing seeds of disloyalty! But now Ragnar is dead, Brida is lost in her own mind, and my brother thinks he is the one to save us." Maeve pulls herself out of his grasp, away from his reach. 

Finan lets her go this time, playing with the cross hanging around his neck. “Come with me.” 

Maeve spins around to look at him with her brow tightly furrowed. “You think I would just abandon Brida?” 

“She’s leading ya into a burning building!” Finan yells, stalking over to her. “Her and your brother, both! Ragnar was too! Ya won’t win against Alfred and Uhtred.” 

“Because of you!” Maeve replies and she’s close to pulling out her dagger and fighting him. Maeve's heart races. He's so close to her now she can see the tiny blemish on the right side of his face, the little sun spots that pepper across his skin. She'd teased him back at Dunholm that the only way to know he was an Irishman and not a Saxon was because of the tell-tale signs of sunspots. 

Those nights in Dunholm are both a foggy memory and the fuel fanning this fire building inside both of them. 

"I need to hate you!" Maeve yells out of desperation, and her voice drops to a whisper. "Anything else is too hard."

"I know!" Finan says. "D'ye think I don't know how much easier it would be to hate ya?" 

And then his mouth is on hers, the frenzied anger of their argument transforms into much more hungry energy. It's an almost violent kiss which, given their history, is not surprising to either of them. Maeve has gone to bed every night since Finan had left, angry at herself for continually playing over his mouth's memories, the way his tongue teased her, fought her, caressed her. And even still, those memories pale in comparison to how he kisses her now. 

Finan does not just kiss with his mouth. He kisses with his entire being. His hand on her face drew her close, and he lifted her, carrying her to rest her back against a large tree.

Maeve's hand wraps around one for his wrists, and she pulls his hand down her neck, over her collarbone to press his hand to her breast. 

Finan groans, pulling away from her just enough to focus his attention on her breasts, which are aching beneath Maeve's tunic, for him to touch and kiss. "I forgot how marvellous they were," His fingers pull at her tunic until it is free from her trousers, and he pushes it up, her breasts free from the wool. 

"Lies," Maeve laughs, her laughter catching in her throat as Finan's mouth captures the peak of one breast in his mouth. The scratch of his beard on her skin and the warm wet heat of his mouth is a delicious mix of pain and pleasure. Maeve can't help but find herself resting back against the tree as Finan alternates between her breasts. 

"Aye, they are burned into my memory," Finan says, retaking her mouth. It's a slower kiss, if not more chaste than the first, and he kisses her as a man who has satiated himself with those first few bites and now wants to savour every tiny morsel.

Finan drags his fingers down between her breasts, over the softness of her belly, and pushes his hand into her trousers. He cups her sex with his hand, long thick fingers covering the soft whorls of hair. Maeve is shamelessly wet, and her hands cling tightly to his arms and shoulders as he slides one finger along her cunt and then another, and she knows he can feel just how aroused she is. 

"So fucking warm," Finan growls, low in her ear, as he pushes those two fingers inside her. Maeve's body responds, tightening around his fingers, her hips canting forward to take them deeper. Finan works them in and out of her slowly, achingly, deliciously slow.

Maeve is getting more anxious by the moment. A soft whine bubbles up from her throat, and she rolls her lips between her teeth to quell the noise. But the sound only compels Finan to move his fingers slower, withdrawing them entirely and up to spot he knows will make her fall apart right there. 

"I missed seeing ye like this," Finan says, kissing her the side of her mouth, her jaw, teeth rasping against the edge of her ear. 

Maeve moans breathlessly, and Finan's fingers press tight little circles over her flesh, and Maeve pulls him closer, her face pressed against his neck as her release comes upon her, hard and fast, Finan's voice whispering in her ear.

"Turn around," Finan growls, and she knows the tone of his voice, the desperation of it, the need to be inside her. 

Maeve obliges, Finan's hands pulling down her trousers, his hand sliding smoothly over her backside. He pinches it hard between his thumb and forefinger, so hard that she yelps and his hand is back in her hair, twisting it around his hand, holding her in place. "Shhh. Breathe, my wee faerie." He rubs over her flesh, his touch warming the spot where he'd pinched her, and the pleasure flares again along her spine. 

He steps forward, and she can feel him right there, and she can't move except to let herself lean forward against the tree. The weight and heat of him are tight against her bottom, his hand pressing firmly on her lower back. 

She doesn't expect it to feel as tight as it does when he pushes his cock into her cunt. She feels the air rush out of her lungs, fingers finding little purchase in the tree's bark as he thrusts all the way in, stilling inside her to let her catch a breath, stretch around him, and accommodate the thickness of his cock. 

"Should I stop?" 

"Oh, God…No. Never." It's been long enough that she'd forgotten the intensity, the fullness. She'd been addicted to walking the fine line between pain and pleasure with him at Dunholm. "Just. Please…go…" She rocks her hips back because she just needs to feel all of him. 

"That's it," he grunts. His hands tight on Maeve's hips and ass, guiding her rhythm as he rocks in and out of her. 

She feels another release begin to build early, a deep swelling in her belly, pulling her down farther and farther as he thrusts into her, his breath short and stuttered. She finds her voice then, and she turns her head to look over her shoulder at him, and his eyes are blown wide, his brow slick with sweat despite the frigid air. "Harder," she pants. "I want it. Please, Finan." 

He obliges, flipping her over, back now against the tree, her legs wrapping around his waist as he lifts her, pinning her body against the tree with his own as he thrusts back up into her. His movements are quick and hard, and his thighs bang angrily against her. He moves his hand on her face, cupping her cheek as she sucks his thumb into her mouth, tongue swirling around it as he slides it in and out of her, rubbing it over her slightly swollen lower lip. He slides his hand from her face, his wet fingers dragging down her chin to rest over her neck, not tight, just there, a fine line between a tease and a threat. 

Against his arm, she can feel her heart beating fast, almost in time with his thrusts, and she reaches up and wraps her hand over his, tightening his grip on her neck.

"Maeve," he groans. 

Maeve doesn't respond because all she can concentrate on is the perfect, direct angle of his hips and what it does to his cock, and how she feels like she's about to be swallowed whole, consumed by her own release. And when she reaches her peak, he squeezes his hand just slightly over her neck, just enough to make her writhe that much more beneath him. 

He kisses her, his mouth covering hers with a long, deep final thrust as he grunts out his release, his hips jerking gracelessly as it overtakes him. 

It is only after they've stepped apart and are righting their clothes does Finan acknowledge what they both know was a mistake on their part. "I shouldn't have spent in ya." He says, buckling his belt around his hips. 

"I should have stopped you," Maeve says, with a shrug. She fixes the line of his cloak, just to touch him one last time because this is the last time they'll meet as something less than enemies. "It will not be a problem. There are herbs to make sure a babe does not take." 

They kiss, softer and more briefly than before, but Maeve does not stay to watch him ride back to Saltwic. She picks up the sack he'd brought and lifts it over her shoulder, heading deeper into the woods toward Brida and their camp. She tries not to think of the fact that she may have to kill him one day soon.


End file.
